Thoughts of a Dying Mafia Boss
by Absolutely Arsenic
Summary: A quick drabble of Mello's thoughts as he is dying. He is fixated on the rivalry that stole away so many years of his short life. Please keep in mind that I haven't watched the episode of his death in a while, so if I got any specifics wrong, I apologize.


As Mello lay dying, there were many things that could have been going through his mind. For example, how his underlings would receive his death. Or hatred towards Kira – after all, he was sure that Kira was killing him, he could tell the moment he felt his heart seize up.

In fact, there were a few things going through his mind by that point. The first, obviously, was fear. He'd thought he was prepared to die, of course, been prepared since the moment he'd declared war on the infamous killer. But one can never be truly prepared to feel their body spasming, to collapse to the ground and be completely and utterly paralyzed as their eyes went dull. Can they? No, he decided, there was nothing in the living world that could have prepared him to feel this weakness, this vulnerability, as though his soul were being sucked out of him. At least no one could see him. If someone had seen him like this, wishing and praying (in his head, of course, he still had enough self-respect left not to die like a whimpering dog), he wasn't sure of the actions he'd take towards himself or the other person to delete such an experience.

The second feeling was regret.

Specifically, a terrible, bitter mixture of jealousy and hate and shocking realization, something that made him so sick to his stomach that it was all he could do not to plunge a gloved hand into his abdomen in an attempt to rip out the churning in his gut.

This feeling, of course, was directed at Near.

Yes, the perfect boy, pure as falling snow, always better than anyone else could hope to be. Mello wondered how his rival had gained entrance into his head at this precise moment, how someone he despised so much could be so important as to force his way into dying thoughts.

Ah. There it was. He was important.

_How did I let this happen? _Mello wondered. _How did I let him steal me away like this? Every second, every action I took. Was it not to become better? Was it not to beat him? _He had always prided himself on how driven he was to become better – smarter, kinder, quicker, stronger. But where was the motivation behind such acts? He'd never thought much about _why _he was doing these things, only about what it would take to accomplish them. A childish way of thinking, he decided. Not the higher-order consciousness that would be expected of L's second successor.

Maybe that was one of the reasons he'd sought out Near's help. Because neither of them was good enough, advanced enough, to succeed on their own. Mello knew he himself wasn't, knew it for certain in those final few moments, and he suspected Near wasn't either. The emotionless doll child, as much of a robot as the plastic toys he played with. All of the talent, none of the drive. Everything was always so effortless for him, wasn't it? The only reason for him to complete assignments was to pass the time. Normalcy was dull to him. Life was dull to him. It had to be, Mello decided, since Near didn't know life the way he did. Near didn't know the ins and outs, the glitches in the system that allowed fun. Near only knew the results, the necessities, and the processes necessary to get there. There wasn't room for anything else in his mind. A miserable existence, most would agree.

So why did Mello fancy that lifestyle so much? And why did he so adore the one leading it? Adoration, he figured, might have been the best word, for he had grown fond of the petite, pale young man. He valued the existence of his rival. His whole life had been built around success, results, and becoming _better, _the improved model, L 2.0. And without a rival, there was nothing against which to measure that success. But since that rival was there, he had no choice. He _had _to improve.

Life was pointless, after all, if one was stuck in neutral. When the mind is at a standstill, the soul is static. Unnecessary. Pointless. But who would want to live without a soul? Mello sure didn't. Hence the search for the keys, the actions needed for the evolution of his soul. Whether that evolution was ever achieved was up for debate, though as he lay dying, Mello felt that he was at least partway there. He had, after all, cooperated with Near eventually. Yet another way the little white dove had provided him with a measure of his worth.

With this realization, Mello's final emotion was gratitude. He was thankful for what had seemed like a curse throughout his life. Collapsed against the wall of the burning building, light seeping away from his eyes, emotions he never thought were possible awoke in him.

Perhaps they were there all along.


End file.
